


Wake Up Call

by DoctorDidactic



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Birthday, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Smut, M/M, One Shot, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Short One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 12:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7892977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorDidactic/pseuds/DoctorDidactic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>John knew he shouldn’t be angry with his boyfriend. Hell, he shouldn’t be angry with himself – for that matter. Still, John couldn’t help but blame himself for catching Sherlock off guard and pushing the detective into his mind palace.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up Call

John bent down slowly and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s furrowed brow, willing the wrinkles to erode. Yet, the stone mask remained impassive. It had been nearly twelve hours since Sherlock had taken up residence on flat 221B’s solitary couch. John knew he shouldn’t be angry with his boyfriend. Hell, he shouldn’t be angry with himself – for that matter. Still, John couldn’t help but blame himself for catching Sherlock off guard and pushing the detective into his mind palace.

Sherlock remained unresponsive despite John’s best efforts to break him out of his self imposed mental isolation. First, he’d tried baiting the genius with purposefully erroneous questions about their most recent case. When that failed, John noisily set about rearranging Sherlock’s kitchen experiments. No reaction. While he was plotting his third maneuver, Mrs. Hudson popped in for a visit. Even with her inane prattling about the past – drawn out by John who knew over exposure to Mrs. Hudson’s monologues tended to wear down Sherlock’s nerves – the detective remained comatose. Eventually, Mrs. Hudson bid John farewell with a slightly pitying expression. 

“He gets like this from time to time, you know” she said, sympathetically, before closing the door behind her. 

That was three hours ago. John had been forced into attempts involving physical contact – something the detective only tolerated at best. Unfortunately, like all his other attempts, John’s kiss failed to rouse his boyfriend. John huffed a breath in frustration which caused the curls on Sherlock’s forehead to flutter like leaves in an abrupt, tea-scented breeze. He was two seconds away from calling Lestrade for advice when a delicious idea crept into his mind. 

Slowly he leaned forward, his chest brushing the outside edge of Sherlock’s steepled hands, and untied the belt of Sherlock’s blue housecoat. John pushed the glorified robe open, revealing a thin, oversized T-shirt and loose pajama bottoms. He waited. No reaction. 

John rose from where he’d been crouching to stand over Sherlock’s still form. Mentally, he willed Sherlock’s mouth to twitch. The detective would open one eye and smirk as if to say: _Well? Get on with it._ John inhaled a shaky breath at the thought before carefully climbing on top of his boyfriend’s stoic body. Kneeling with his knees braced on either side of Sherlock’s narrow hips, the smaller man reached down and ran his finger tips along the hem of Sherlock’s shirt. Scarcely daring to breathe at this point, lest he break the tense silence of the flat, John reached up and under the shirt to feel the smooth planes of Sherlock’s stomach. His fingers found the axillary artery in Sherlock’s right armpit. John grinned, knowingly. It seemed that Sherlock’s mind may have blocked him out, but his body could not ignore the doctor’s ministrations. Sherlock would be so disappointed. The elevated pulse was his transport’s ultimate betrayal. 

With growing confidence, John pushed the shirt up so his lips could follow the path of his hands. Leaving feather-light kisses on each ridge of Sherlock’s ribcage, John paused to hover over the detective’s pale, pink nipple. Mouth poised John glanced up. To his delight, Sherlock’s lips had parted just a fraction. John waited. His breath ghosted over the now pebbled nipple and, after no movement from the man beneath him, his tongue dipped down for a slow, deliberately teasing, lick. 

He was rewarded with a gasp so soft yet so sudden that John almost jumped off in alarm. Blue eyes searched the pale planes of Sherlock’s stubbornly stoic face. Aside from the slightly parted lips, nothing had changed. John released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The game was still on, it seemed. The doctor smirked at the thought. 

John returned his attention to Sherlock’s nipple, tongue dancing in circles around the circumference. His hands slid up and down the smooth flanks like waves on the shore. Rising up alongside a deep breath from the body beneath him, John switched over to the other nipple. He lightly worried the nub between his teeth and was rewarded with a squirm. John could feel Sherlock’s erection nudging against his thigh. Taking pity, he started traveling south, licking and nibbling along the way. When he reached Sherlock’s navel, he paused. Dipping his tongue inside, he swirled a quick figure-eight before surfacing and nipping the lower ridge. Suddenly there were hands in his hair. John sucked in a sharp breath. He tried to look up but the hands, with their long fingers massaging his scalp, prevented him. 

Instead they seemed intent on guiding John down, down, further down until he was face to face with Sherlock’s insistent erection. He could see the damp spot which had formed and smelled the salty tang of precum. His mouth watered in a Pavlovian response. Even trapped in his Mind Palace, Sherlock still found a way to be demanding. He huffed a short laugh, his breath causing the cock to jump. John briefly mouthed the member through the fabric while his hands reached to pull at Sherlock’s waistband. He was surprised when the body beneath him rose up to assist. 

Sherlock groaned long and deep when his erection was liberated. Again, John tried to make eye contact and, again, the hands on his head restrained him. 

“Sherlock?” he ventured, hardly a murmur. 

“John…” came a breathy reply. “Oh, John…” The detective rocked his hips forward, nudging his cock into John’s chin. An unspoken demand the doctor was all to happy to comply. 

“Welcome back, you berk,” John chuckled before covering the head of Sherlock's penis with his lips. Callused fingers dug into slender hips to prevent the instinctive thrust from choking him. John’s tongue chased the taste of precum as it ran along the slit and then roved up and over the glands in a clockwise circle. Sherlock’s fingers gripped John’s short blond hair more tightly, eyes at last flying open. He stared, unseeing, at the ceiling of the living room, mouth open in a near silent gasp. 

How did he get here? One minute he was cataloguing data in his mind palace and the next he was on the receiving end of a meticulously pleasurable blowjob. He tried to recall but each flick of John’s devilishly talented tongue caused his thoughts to skip like a scratched CD. What was he searching for in his mind? He’d gone looking for something related to John- _nnggh!_ Sherlock’s head flew back against the pillows as the doctor applied suction.

“John…” Sherlock panted. “God yes, John.”

John hummed, causing tremors in Sherlock’s body. He was close. When did he get so close? How long had this been going on? He couldn’t think. He could feel his balls pulling tight and he hissed a warning. Rather than pull off, John redoubled his efforts, bobbing up and down. Sherlock’s gasping moans matched his pace until, clenching his teeth, he came thick and hot into John’s mouth. The doctor dutifully drank it all down. John lapped Sherlock’s cock from root to tip as the detective seemed to melt into the couch cushions. 

Sherlock tried to catch his breath, hands petting John’s head. No longer held down, John crawled upward to pepper his boyfriend’s lips and ridiculous cheekbones with kisses. 

“Hullo, you,” he said between kisses. “Do you want to tell me what kept you away all day?”

“Hmm?” Sherlock cracked one eye open. His brain was still rebooting. Sex with John always seemed to have this effect on his normally overwhelming mind. It was probably one of his favorite parts, if he were honest. It was a brief respite from data clamoring for attention; the luxury of just being allowed to _feel._

“You’ve been stuck in your mind palace, love,” John moved to make eye contact. “What were you thinking about?”

It was as if someone flipped a switch. Sherlock’s mind was back online and he remembered, in a blindly bright flash, that it was John’s birthday. He’d forgotten until that morning when Mrs. Hudson had asked him if they had any plans. Her questions about cake flavors had faded into white noise as he realized with growing horror that he had nothing planned. Nothing at all. There’d been a particularly engaging cold case which left him engrossed in his experiments but that was no excuse. It would have been simple enough if were anyone besides John. He would have ignored it. But this was John. What does one do for your boyfriend’s birthday? He had no idea. 

So, he did what he normally did when faced with a John related problem. He went to the special room reserved for all things John in his Mind Palace. He dug through boxes and files of data pertaining to John’s likes and dislikes. If he took a moment to bask in John’s laughter or admire one of his smiles, no one would know. Sherlock hadn’t realized that he had no data for this predicament. He’d been left sitting on the floor surrounded by scraps of information but without answers. Then, inspired, he decided to revisit the section dedicated to their combined sexual exploits. Maybe he could treat John to a special night in – but how to make it significant enough to merit a birthday present? Reviewing the many different ways he’d pleasured his blogger (and been pleasured in return) made his heart rate spike. It was almost like feeling John’s lips on his body – until reality made him realize that, that’s exactly what was happening. John, his clever John, had taken matters into his own hands and brought Sherlock back to 221B. 

Sherlock’s eyes were wide open now and staring back into navy depths of the older man poised on top of him. He swallowed nervously as he realized he’d wasted John’s birthday. If he’d only paid more attention! He broke eye contact and darted his gaze over to the coffee table. 

“Your birthday…” he muttered, barely inaudible. 

“What?” 

“It’s your birthday, John. And I-I didn’t plan anything for it,” Sherlock kept his eyes adverted. 

“So you mentally checked out to, what, think about me? For twelve hours?”

Sherlock didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He’d failed as a boyfriend. Sure, he knew he was still new at the position but that didn’t mean he had to be rubbish at the things that mattered. Mrs. Hudson had told him that birthdays mattered to normal people and while John was anything but _normal_ he probably still cared. His self flagellation was interrupted by a soft press of lips against his own. 

The gentle slide of the kiss soothed his ire as John told him everything he needed to know without uttering a single word. _It’s ok_ the kiss said. _I don’t mind. I love you._

They broke apart and John smiled at him. “You daft git,” he said affectionately, placing a light kiss to the tip of the detective’s nose. “The night’s not over, you know…”

John laughed in surprise as Sherlock pounced, rolling them over the edge of the couch and onto the floor, determined to make up for lost time.

**Author's Note:**

> After years of reading (devouring) fanfiction, this is my first attempt at writing one. Comments are much appreciated.


End file.
